


Unquiet Slumbers

by peterlorres21stCentury



Category: Original Work, Peter Lorre - Fandom
Genre: Allegory, Current Events, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterlorres21stCentury/pseuds/peterlorres21stCentury
Summary: Another exercise in talking to myself, basically. Victoria returns from the Death and the Suicide story to speak with Death again, and also his brother Sleep, who provides some insight into the human psyche.
Kudos: 1





	Unquiet Slumbers

Victoria was not asleep when she witnessed the twin shadows float past. She was certain of that. Her entire body was too flooded with the dread awareness of pain to be asleep. There was the sickening stab in her chest again, and the feverish heat, as though all her skin had been replaced with burning lead. A familiar, lingering odor of cigarette smoke, and something else—lilies?—replaced the omnipresent sting of antiseptic as the shadows loomed closer.

She was not afraid. She tried to speak, but her lips and tongue refused to move. Her limbs would not move either, no matter how hard she tried, and the struggle only brought more pain. So she waited, watching the whole scene in intense detail from outside her immobile body: the dim echoing corridor, its angled walls and ceiling stretching far into a distorted distance, the rattle of labored breathing beside her, the faraway hum of voices and heart monitors, a footfall somewhere on the hard polished tiles, and the two silent shadows, stalking unnoticed among the gurneys lined in unending rows.

“It's getting worse, you know. They don’t sleep,” a sorrowing voice said, and she tingled down the length of her spine. Her master’s voice. It was unmistakable—Death was back. She strained to hear the rest of what he said.

“Sure, I visit them, but they fight me all the time,” the voice continued. “Always staring into the lights at their bedside, watching. Waiting for something. I don't know what. And when they finally drop, it isn't restful at all. It's more like unconsciousness. I can't give them any peace. But it's poor Morpheus I worry about. Their dreams, if they dream at all…”

The voice trailed off with an audible shudder. She heard a match strike, and glimpsed its brief illumination against Death’s pale round face watching over her. The cigarette glowed, reflecting a spark in his endlessly deep, dark eyes. He exhaled smoke from his nose.

“I know. I have seen this before.”

Death’s voice seemed to answer itself like a flat echo, but his tone had changed, dropping into something monotonous and cold, emotionless. Victoria was confused. Did Death speak to himself?

“But not like this. Isn't it worse?” asked the other shadow, trembling. “Doesn't it bother you, when even you can't bring the poor devils any peace?”

“Of course it does.” Death blinked slowly, staring heavy-lidded into space. “But I'm tired.”

Something flared in her feverish brain as she thought back on her last encounter. _Thanatos and Hypnos,_ she thought, and the pieces fell into place. _They’re both here._

As Death watched her, the stressed lines of his brow relaxed ever so slightly. He reached out to stroke her face, his soft cold fingertips like ice dripping onto her cheek, and her heart leaped. _I’m here, I’m here,_ she cried out for him in her mind, but her body still would not obey.

“She can hear us.” Sleep glided into view, hovering worriedly over the gurney. “How many times have I told Morpheus, you don’t bring dreams to the sick ones until after I’ve finished with them. Otherwise they hallucinate and… well, it’s not nice.”

Death watched her blankly for another moment or two before he pulled his hand away, distracted. The labored breathing of a nearby patient was growing heavier. He drew once more on his cigarette before passing it to a grateful Sleep, and for a while they both kept vigil at the other gurney. At length Death produced a silvery pocket-watch on a delicate chain, glanced at the time, then slowly, gently passed his other hand over the patient’s eyes. The flagging struggle for breath quieted and stopped altogether.

Silence reigned. Victoria, still immobile, didn’t dare breathe as Death turned away from the corpse, his rounded shoulders sagging with the weight of centuries. He gestured at Victoria without looking at her.

“Stay with her,” he said.

“What?” Sleep straightened up with a look of fright. “Where are you going?”

Death did not answer. He rubbed his forehead, stepping unsteadily back into the corridor.

“These people are slaves,” he murmured to himself. “Every one. And they never knew.”

“Leaving so soon?” A harsh feminine voice intruded on the silence, sending Victoria’s heart into convulsions. Sleep cringed, shrinking away from the malevolent presence that she could not see.

“What’s that you said about slaves?” the voice continued in rebuke. A flint-sharp laugh reverberated off the tiles. “I rather dislike that. Hardly the word I would choose.”

Death stood rigid. “Get out of here,” he said.

“Why should I? This is my house. If anything, _you_ are the ones trespassing.”

“I said get out,” Death repeated, louder.

“Rude! And after I did such splendid work, too. Truth be told, I was going to invite both of you here anyway. I was getting bored. You know, there’s barely anything for me to do these days! Mortals have made my work much too easy.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Sleep implored in an undertone, timidly reaching out to touch Death’s arm.

“Have they?” Death seethed, ignoring him. “I never thought I would see the day when the great Queen Pest would get bored. Go on, why not release a new strain while you’re at it? Or better yet, some new plague entirely, huh? Would that cheer you up?”

“I already tried that,” Pestilence replied. “It seems to go the way of all my other experiments. More contagious, but no more virulent. Why is that, Thanatos, do you know?”

Death said nothing. His face was completely still, frozen into a livid mask.

“Well, there’s always time to try again,” she went on. “But I’ll tell you one thing I never get tired of. It’s the arguing. I’ve never seen anything like it. Right up until the end they will deny they ever had my divine disease, and yet they did everything possible to spread it. But they are not slaves, brother. Their own bodies are my willing weapon.” She laughed lightly. “Beautiful, isn’t it? They think it’s a revolution. Fighting for power, for freedom, and so on. Such obedient little rats. They’d tear each other apart for the most miserable crumbs from my table. And with no idea they’re doing it all for me. Me.”

Still Death said nothing. His fingers twitched.

“Brother, don’t,” Sleep warned.

Pestilence burst into laughter. “What’s the matter, Hypnos? Afraid he might kill me?”

Sleep looked away nervously, shuffling several steps back towards Victoria’s gurney.

“Or perhaps,” Pestilence continued, “you’re worried about what I might do to _her?_ ”

Victoria’s stomach dropped as she sensed all attention shift towards her.

“What’s wrong, mortal?” Pestilence drew nearer with a voice like poisoned honey. “No kind words for me this time?”

“Get away from her,” snarled Death.

Sleep raised his hands and attempted to place himself between Pestilence and Victoria, but an invisible blow knocked him aside without the slightest effort. As Victoria watched in horror, an unnaturally tall, rail-thin figure revealed itself, clothed in a long flowing white shroud that reached the floor. Above the headless shoulders, a gleaming porcelain mask floated in space, the smiling slit of a mouth painted in fresh blood. Pestilence leaned gracefully over Victoria’s prone form, close enough to kiss.

“It’s me again,” her voice hissed in Victoria’s ear. “Ah, yes. I said it would not be quick for you.”

The thin white hands shot out, sending a crushing weight into Victoria’s chest, and a cloud of hot pestilential breath gusted from the mouth of the disembodied mask. Sticky droplets spattered her face, trickling nauseatingly through her hair. Victoria’s teeth ached in her clenched jaw as she fought to scream, to kick blindly, but even now it was impossible.

_Help me,_ she begged.

From the corner of her vision, Victoria caught the motion of Death’s hand, and glimpsed the polished jetty-black handle of a flick knife. In one smooth arc and a liquid _click_ he extended the blade, long and glistening like a shaft of moonlight made solid. He lunged at his sister, stabbing viciously, but Pestilence was no longer there, her mocking laugh still ringing in their ears.

Victoria’s eyes flew open at the agonizing, ice-water shock that pierced her racing heart. She saw Death’s face contorted in a horrified stare, and she followed his gaze to where his blade halted above her chest, its atom-thin point biting through a millimeter of her flesh.

Death’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He released his grip, sending the blade dissolving back into the ether. Without a word, he turned and fled just as quickly into the dark.

“Wait,” Victoria cried after him. The paralysis had finally lifted, but now something else held her down, soft and gentle like a cool hand across her brow, and she felt a weight ease gingerly next to her onto the sheets.

She blinked at the familiar figure of a dark-haired little man, seated at the edge of the gurney and dressed in a loose-fitting gray suit, frozen in the act of raising a cigarette to his full lips. Victoria’s heart melted with relief. Here again was the image of her idol, the refugee changeling of stage and screen—yet this time she could tell he was not Death. The cold, slow-moving aura, the sense of Death’s deliberation and dark inevitability was gone, replaced with something merely veiled in shadow and infinitely more curious; a sad, innocent presence that perched on the edges of beds and watched everything through inquisitive dark eyes, large as saucers in the dim light. For a tense second they stared at each other, wordless.

“Sleep?” she addressed him timidly.

His eyes somehow went even wider. “You can see me?”

She nodded.

“How much did you hear?” he demanded.

“Um. Everything.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” he apologized after some moments. “It was only sleep paralysis.”

“It’s all right,” she said, and her aching chest relaxed. She rubbed the spot where Death’s knife had nicked her skin, but there was no sign of any injury. Her pulse quickened as she remembered something.

“Pestilence,” she said. “I saw her this time.”

“Oh no, she...” Sleep’s voice weakened. “You were dreaming, Victoria. Yes, that’s it. Go back to sleep now.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Her throat tensed with an imminent coughing fit, and her outstretched arms fell limp in fatigue.

“I said you were dreaming,” his velvety voice repeated. “Please don’t try to talk. You’re very ill.”

“Yeah, I know,” she gasped. The rest of her answer was lost as her whole body was racked with violent coughing. Sleep was silent for the duration, his soft moon face reflecting pity and anxiety both, until she was able to breathe again.

“I know I saw her. I figured it was my time soon,” she continued in a hoarse whisper. “It’s why Death came back.”

Sleep’s huge shadowed eyes flickered anxiously. He gestured towards her before remembering the ashen cigarette stub still clutched between his fingers. He attempted one last puff, frowned, and let it drop to the floor.

“Listen. I’m not going to lie to you. Brother didn’t come here to take you.” he said.

Victoria sighed. “Then why did he come at all? What’s taking him so long?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, that’s not up to me. I can’t do anything about it.”

She closed her eyes. “Will you stay with me?” she asked.

“Yes. That is, if you want me to.”

“Of course I do,” she said. “It’s funny, you look exactly like your brother.”

He giggled softly. “Mortals always say that. The ones who can see me, anyway. Of course, they don’t all imagine me the way you do. Peter Lorre, huh? I like that.”

Victoria managed a weak smile. “I’m glad. It’s good to talk to you again.”

Sleep inclined his head politely. “Likewise.”

“So, should I call you Hypnos, or Sleep?”

He shrugged. “Oh, it makes no difference to me. I have so many names. Whichever one is easier to spell.”

She smiled. “What made you disappear so quick the last time? You know, after Famine showed up?”

“Oh, that.” He bashfully lowered his gaze and ran his fingers over his sleeve, picking at the fabric to avoid looking at her. “I don’t like to let mortals see me, if I can help it. I thought I would be invisible to you too, but you’re different. Maybe it is different with Brother’s acolytes. I don’t meet them very often.”

“I can’t say I understand the acolyte thing, either.” By this time her voice had faded to nothing more than a raspy whisper. “Is Death… is he all right?”

“Oh, he’s—” Sleep paused. “No, he’s not all right. Terribly angry, in fact. And tired. He wanted to keep you company for a little while, but…”

Victoria failed to hide a dejected look. “But he sent you instead.”

He flinched. “You don’t want me here?” he murmured.

“Oh, no-no-no. I didn’t say that.”

The doleful shadows under his eyes deepened. “Everybody fights me these days. But I’m not so bad, am I? I only ask for about half your life. Maybe only a third. Brother takes the rest eventually, and he doesn’t let you come back later, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand. I’m glad you’re here,” she assured him. “Matter of fact, I love to sleep.”

“Because it reminds you of Death?” he asked.

“No it doesn’t. Well, maybe,” she admitted. “It’s just that lately I can’t sleep. I’m in so much pain. Everything aches all over and I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, I can help you. That’s easy,” he said, brightening a little. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a shining crystalline flask, filled with a pale misty fluid that swirled in a visible ebb and flow.

“Remember this?” he said.

“Oh. That’s—Water of Lethe?” she said, peering closer.

He beamed. “Yes! A few drops and you won’t feel anything for hours. And then, when you wake up—”

“That’s just it,” she sighed. “Maybe I don’t want to wake up.”

“Huh?”

Her eyes wandered blankly towards the ceiling. “Sometimes I go to sleep thinking ‘maybe I won’t wake up tomorrow. It would be so peaceful and I won’t know any different.’ But that never happens. I always wake up again.”

“Don’t say things like that, Victoria. Didn’t Brother tell you it would do no good?”

“He told me not to jump off the bridge,” she said. “Or stand in front of a train, or take pills or whatever. And I didn’t. But he never said I couldn’t think about it.”

She regretted her statement a moment later, watching his deep sorrowing eyes fill to the brim with tears.

“Don’t think it, either. Please,” he begged. “It’s too sad. I don’t like to see mortals so unhappy that they don’t want to exist anymore. Poor lost ones like you. They have forgotten all of life’s joy.”

“Joy?” she snorted. “This endless parade of misery is a joy?”

Sleep looked away, crestfallen, and wrung his hands in his lap, visibly struggling not to weep.

“Um… look, I’m sorry,” Victoria said, swiftly forcing down a sharp pang of sympathetic grief. Her legs fidgeted under the twisted, clammy sheet. “It’s just that it was a little easier talking to your brother.”

“Why is that?” he mumbled, staring at his feet.

“Well. He didn’t try to pretend things were okay. He knows this whole world is shit. He even admitted that the world wasn’t made for all of us. Only the powerful. The rest of us can go hang.” She scowled bitterly. “But at least he accepts all of us. No matter what we were before, to him everyone is equal. Forever.”

“You are all equal to me, too.”

Victoria stared belligerently at the blank wall. “I can count on one hand the times I was considered equal. ‘We’ll accept you as a human being, if you act like this. If you repress that. If you refuse to acknowledge x and y.’ Death doesn’t demand that.”

“Neither do I,” Sleep insisted, taking a nip from his flask before returning it to his pocket. “Death and I aren’t twins for nothing. But of course, in other ways I am not like him at all. You might not remember when I visit, but I’m still there, and you’re thinking all the time. Your mind can do anything it wants, free of any consequence. And nothing can hurt you.”

His voice slowed to a gentle cadence, a soothing lullaby. The longer he spoke, the heavier her eyelids fell against her will.

“Wait a minute,” she slurred. There was a disorienting sensation of floating away into thin air and her eyes unfocused. “No.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he purred. “It’s only sleep.”

“I know, but I don’t want to sleep. Not yet.”

She pinched herself, fighting to stay awake, and the mantle of exhaustion lifted momentarily. Sleep remained watching over her, a clear look of disappointment written on his face.

“Well, if you really don’t want to,” he said, pouting a little. “But sooner or later, everybody has to sleep. Just as everybody has to die someday.”

“That’s true,” Victoria conceded. “But you only delay the inevitable.”

Sleep’s whole forehead crinkled in dismay. “Can I help it if I do what I’m meant to do? I’m just trying to bring everyone a little peace, that’s all. Whether it’s for a few hours or… something more permanent.” He glanced anxiously at the dead patient on the other gurney and shifted to block Victoria’s view, but she merely gestured to it with a movement of her head.

“That one is dead. I already saw,” she said.

Sleep hesitated to reply. He rose to his feet and paced around the crowded hallway, staring at the gurneys piled row upon haphazard row.

“Yes,” he said. “Most of them are dead. There was no way to care for them any longer.”

“So. They knew I was dying,” she murmured. “And they stuck me out here, is that it?” She gazed expectantly at him with a growing sardonic grin. “Maybe they thought I’d fit right in with the rest of them.”

Sleep fidgeted uncomfortably, running a nervous hand over his jacket lapel. “Please don’t try to talk.”

“Yeah, I mean, her whole job is to prepare the dead,” she said, sarcastically imitating an imagined third person. “Just dump them all out there together, so she’ll feel at home.” She laughed, choking on her own spit a second later. “It’s just as well. Maybe I wanted to end it, anyhow.”

“Take it easy… look, I only know that there is a chance you won’t die.” His voice trembled.

“Oh, swell. And how do you know? Did Death tell you?”

“No!” Sleep whined, his eyes darting for an escape. “Only he knows when your time is, and he won’t tell anyone that, not even me. Look, he has to do it this way. I know it’s his job, but I don’t like it, it’s—”

His last words were swallowed in a despairing sob, and a palpable wave of sorrow consumed Victoria like the rising tide. It felt as though her heart would break. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying too, but it was no good.

“Stop that,” she protested. Her own hot tears spilled into the sheets. “Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it. You’re not the only one with troubles, you know. I listen to so many mortal thoughts.” He hiccuped once or twice and wiped his eyes, and the endless chasm of grief slowly faded away. “Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Anyway, you cannot blame Brother or me for what happened to your world.”

“I don’t blame either of you. Death already explained it was inevitable.” She tossed her head on the hard backrest, trying to relieve the ache in her neck. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“But for a little while, it worked out all right for you, didn’t it? The funeral home gave you your job back.”

Victoria coughed. “Yeah. They finally fucking had to admit they needed me. Did no good, though. I thought I did everything right. Mask, hand-washing, sterilizing, and I still got sick. I knew I should have stayed home. I wanted to. But I had to work, didn’t I?”

Sleep nodded in agreement. “Sure. Brother did tell you to.”

“But why? Why would he tell me to return to work if it resulted in all this? It’s not that I care so much about myself. But how many other people are sick or dead because of me?”

“Shh. There’s no way to know that. It isn’t your fault,” Sleep replied.

“Yes it is.”

“No. Pestilence is much too good at her job, that’s all. She has so many ways. So very devious. But for all that, she’s quite weak…”

His eyes bulged in terror as he realized his insult too late, and clapped a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that!” he said fearfully to the empty air.

Victoria watched him with concern. “Did she come back?” she asked.

Sleep didn’t answer right away. “No, I don’t think so. But I’m afraid of her,” he whispered. “If she knew what I said, she’d tell War about it. And uh… we don’t get along so well.”

“Oh. I never met War. I met the other three, though.”

He shuddered. “Oh, you don’t want to meet War,” he said. “Wasn’t Famine and Pestilence bad enough? I’ve seen what happens to War’s followers. They never come back quite the same. If they come back at all.”

Victoria quietly agreed. “Why did you say that Pestilence was weak?”

He glanced from side to side as if someone else was listening. “I shouldn’t tell you,” he said evasively.

“Oh, come on. Who else am I going to tell?”

“Hm. That’s true,” he decided after some thought. He took a deep breath and resumed his seat at the foot of the gurney, folding one leg under him. “Well. It’s like this. Pestilence hasn’t been this ascendant in over a hundred years. That might seem like a long time to you, but to us it isn’t. Or at least, it shouldn’t be, only she’s like a child. Always impatient, always experimenting, trying to create the next big thing. She hardly knows what to do with herself. You follow me?”

“Yeah,” said Victoria. “Go on.”

Sleep glanced around warily one last time. “Usually her nonsense is not very important. But every so often, one of her plagues really gets out of hand. Maybe in a crowded prison, or a careless laboratory accident, or one of countless interactions that you would never even think of. Only this time, it didn’t happen by accident. She had help.”

Victoria frowned. “From whom?”

“From War, of course,” Sleep replied. “Haven’t you ever noticed that times of sickness and strife go hand in hand? Pestilence could never be this powerful without his help, not in this day and age. She still believes that every sick mortal is her willing servant, but it isn’t true at all. They don’t worship her, they are only pawns. It’s War who promised them everything. It’s War who destabilized the entire world by appealing to hate and greed, and made it possible for Pestilence to run rampant. I’ve seen it all before. And it’s happening again.”

Sleep was carried away in a burst of excitement as he spoke, his words tumbling out ever faster, until the weight of what he said began to dawn on him. He fell silent with a look of fear and clasped his hands in his lap, rocking slightly back and forth. “Anyway, that’s… that’s how it is,” he whispered.

She turned away in exhaustion, eyes as heavy and dry as grit. “I used to call it a death cult,” she said dully. “They would destroy themselves and everyone around them before they would consider the truth. But it’s the wrong cult, isn’t it? Death isn’t like that at all. Not after what I’ve seen.”

“Yes,” Sleep agreed. “My other siblings can only create suffering. Pain and anguish, yes, but for all that, they cannot kill. They can only alter the threads of life. Brother is forced to cut them short.”

Victoria was silent for a while as she covered her face in despair. “This world is so screwed. It’s eating itself. Feasting on corpses… it can’t go on like this.”

Sleep reached out hesitantly to console her when his ears perked at something. He stood up straight, alerted to a presence only he could see.

“Yes?” he said to the dark. “Oh. Oh that’s wonderful… yes, of course we ought to take her there. Now.”

Victoria uncovered her face to a bustle of activity. Sleep was pushing her gurney into the hall, his light steps as quiet as ever even in his haste. She stared at him in confusion.

“What’s going on?” she asked feebly.

“Making sure they take you, that’s all. Brother freed a bed—” Sleep cut himself off with a cough. “I mean, there’s a free bed now. We’ll take you there.”

Victoria scoffed. “They won’t take me. There’s too many others in triage.” 

Sleep wheeled her down the corridor at a brisk pace, unconcerned. “Oh, you never know. You’ve been waiting a long time. Besides, you don’t look so good. Morpheus, run ahead and find the doctor.”

Victoria blinked rapidly at the appearance of a new face watching over her. It was like seeing a mirror image of Sleep, or a smaller copy of him, only this time it was in the person of a petite young woman, complete with the same perfectly round cheeks and huge dark eyes staring solemnly into her own. The little woman smiled, waved to her shyly, then hurried forward to fade shadow-like through the closed double doors ahead.

Victoria pointed after her in recognition. “Cathy,” she breathed, and looked to Sleep with the fervent question in her eyes. “She looks like…”

“That’s how you see her. My children have many forms,” he said indulgently. “Rest now. They’ll take care of you.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can. And you must, if you want to get better. That’s why I am here.”

His low voice was a caress, bathing her whole feverish body like a healing balm. She felt his feather-light touch on her forehead, his fingers brushing down her cheek, her neck, until the palm of his hand rested between her breasts. Within moments, the dull pangs in her chest receded as her heart slowed.

“Why are you doing this for me?” she asked thickly.

“You are tired now,” was all he said, and his gentle command made it so. Victoria could only agree as she felt the tension in her limbs dissolve. She shut her eyes and tried to take his hand into her own, to press it closer, but her arms had turned to leaden weights. There was a fleeting impression of cold water droplets, an unknowable shadow cast by a beat of illusory wings, and she remembered nothing more.

Sleep stayed at her side for some minutes, holding her hand until the masked health care workers, aching and hollow-eyed, retrieved her unconscious body and rushed her into the ward. He loitered patiently outside the doors to wait for Morpheus to reappear, then put his arm around his child’s shoulders to guide her back through the silence of the long corridor.

“You gave her something nice to dream this time?” he asked.

Morpheus nudged affectionately against her father, sending his steps slightly off-balance.

“I did,” she said, and smiled.


End file.
